Joe Goldberg is beginning to wonder if there's any more decent people in the world. With both Candace and Beck out of the picture, he's feeling lonely and starting to give up on love. That is, until Leila comes sobbing into Mooney's. Fragile and vul...
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I t ' s getting late, Leila.
Fifteen minutes til close and you're no where to be found. I'm plagued by insecurity, and the only thing I can do to keep my tethered mind intact is replay your voice on the other end of the phone calling me cute.
I picture your lips moving slowly, formulating the sentence. Over and over.
You think I'm cute. You think I'm cute.
It's what I was hoping for, and now... It's a reality. Leila, our love story is forming here and now. I just need you talk walk through that door and-
"And, what?" Beck slaps a book shut, but doesn't break eye contact with the cover. "What will happen, Joe? She walks through and life suddenly turns into a fairy tail with you as Prince Charming?"
"I can't do this right now."
There's no escaping her, she's at my side now. Staring me down with those large gray eyes. "She's not like me, Joe. She's real. Leila is a real girl with real ambitions. She doesn't need-"
"Doesn't need what?" My voice fluxes with heat, carrying well over the low hum of the lights. Beck freezes, dropping her gaze to the counter.
"She's a teacher," she whispers, "kids depend on her. Ruining her isn't an option. Joe, think-"
She reaches for me, then curls her fingers into her palms just before they hit my chest. My face turns sour, disgusted by the mere sight of her.
"You're right," I manage, "ruining her isn't an option."
Beck frowns, her lips melting down her face, gray eyes cloud, judging me as I step forward, scooping a stack of books in my arm to file. The girl's everywhere lately. Following me around more so than usual. Her ghost appears in vain attempts to lecture me. She drones endlessly on about your character, Leila. About what little we have to go on of who you are. You are a mystery.
I think back to yesterday. To your bundled up body trembling as you find your way up to the loft, hoping to escape whatever mayhem you left. I see your honey crisp eyes meet mine. That mark teasing me from just beneath your eye. Dimples smiling, lips inviting. They part to say my name. My pocket sized Natalie Portman. Clean, kind, organized, and vulnerable.
You want me to notice you. But do you care if the rest of the world sees you?
"Hello?" Leila? What are you doing here? I mean I'm glad that you are, but it's so late.
"Uh, Joe?"
You speak my name slowly, unsure of yourself as you approach the counter. As you approach me. You glance down, a slow burn dusts over your face. Everything about you says that you're nervous. That you're genuine.
